


der plan ist übers meer

by ascience



Category: Football RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Euro 2016, German National Team, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-09 19:34:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7814395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ascience/pseuds/ascience
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before the Euro preparations started, Julian had never noticed Jonas much. Not in <em>that</em> way, at least.</p>
            </blockquote>





	der plan ist übers meer

The crush doesn’t appear out of nowhere on that Saturday. Obviously.

Sure, sometimes the adrenalin of a won game gets the better of you, and you kiss people you shouldn’t, and you give handjobs you shouldn’t (or so Julian has heard). But this one didn’t start with the yells of the crowd or the lightheadedness following held breaths during the penalty kicks.

Marc probably has permanent impressions of Julian’s fingernails on his arm by now, but that’s the last thing either of them is thinking about when Jonas sinks the final ball into the net.

For a second, all Julian manages to do is grip Marc’s arm tighter, then everything explodes, and Julian can’t count who he’s hugging anymore.

A win against Italy, after 120 minutes and more, after history’s worst penalty shoot-out.  
It doesn’t matter.

“Holy shit,” Leroy breathes, “What the fuck,” and Julian doubts anyone else could have said it better.

Julian walks on wobbly knees as he makes his way across the pitch, patting every shoulder he sees in his peripheral vision.

It’s not his moment, but it sure as hell is the team’s, and he doesn’t think twice about heading straight towards Jonas when they walk towards the fans.

Julian’s quickly beating heart isn’t down to the adrenaline, but when he pretends it is - and he’s just walking up to the goalscorer, the man of the match, and not sweet Jonas who crinkles his nose when he has to read without glasses - in that case, Julian can sort of arrange himself with that.

Mario (Gomez, not Götze, although Julian wouldn’t even know what a pan was if someone hit him with it in that moment) accidentally blocks his way, but Julian only sees Jonas with his head in hands, forever grinning.

“The hero!” Julian calls, which is luckily one of the less stupid things he could have said, being faced with Jonas opening his arms to hug him.

“Thank you,” Jonas replies in a hoarse voice, shaking his head in disbelief. He’s looking a little out of it, overwhelmed, who wouldn’t be, and Julian clings to him.

Julian is suddenly tempted to just lean in, and that thought surprises him, because he’s not usually that forward. But he’s way beyond caring, focus entirely on Jonas’ heaving chest against his own, so he does the next best thing, touches his foreheard against Jonas’.

In turn, Jonas guides his hand to his cheek. If it wasn’t in front of thousands of people and cameras, this could be _it_.

Jonas repeats nonsense strings of words, mostly consisting of _God,_ _Oh God_ , and _Oh my God_ , but Julian would still gladly listen to him for hours. Jesus. Thankfully nobody can hear him think.

When he hugs Jonas from behind, he presses his hands over the crest on Jonas’ jersey, as if that move could somehow be mistaken as patriotic. Jonas’ fingers become intertwined between Julian’s hands, and Julian realises it can only go downhill from here on forward.

Mats walks towards them and says something that Julian neither understands over the noise nor cares about too much, but even he can’t take away from this precious moment.

Then, though, Jonas is suddenly swept away, probably for one of the countless interviews he’s going to have to endure now, and leaves Julian with one last tug at his golden bib.

\--

Before the Euro preparations started, Julian had never noticed Jonas much. Not in _that_ way, at least.

Jonas had been some dude who came out of nowhere, or maybe from Saarland, same thing, and then suddenly played national team matches from end to end, which was impressive.

Julian had met him when Dortmund had played against Köln, but that was a _‘met’_ in its broadest terms. It didn’t prepare him at all for the hole he dug himself when he shook Jonas’ hand on the first day of Euro preparations.

He doesn’t have the courage to talk to Jonas outside of ‘ _hey’_ and ‘ _pass the ball_ ’, and they don’t really know each other so the opportunity doesn’t provide itself.

Joshua keeps elbowing Julian in the side as some weird way of encouragement, as if being bruised as hell was a good conversation starter.

Spoilers, it’s not.

There was that chance after the quarterfinal, sure, and Julian is ashamed to say he daydreams about it, because he almost feels like there was something from Jonas’ end as well.

Then again, he’s pretty sure he saw Boa and Manu making out in the showers afterwards, and that would never have happened without the penalty shoot-out before, so.

Back to square one, basically.

\--

“You’re looking at him like he invented football,” Joshua says between two bites of fish.

Julian hiccups in surprise, and quickly drops his gaze at the food in front of him. He hadn’t even realised he had been staring at Jonas again, chewing on nothing.

“Which he didn’t, by the way,” Joshua adds, waving his fork. “In case you forgot.”

“Shut up,” Julian mutters and stabs at a piece of potato on his plate. He’s kind of hoping someone else would sit down at their table so Joshua couldn’t nag him any longer, but nobody is helping Julian escape this topic.

“So, like. Why?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know. _Jonas_ ,” Joshua says and nudges Julian with his foot under the table. “Like. Why. How. When. A number of questions come to mind and you’ve always avoided them.”

“Ughhhhh,” Julian says eloquently. It’s not like he can explain it anyway. Any attempt would just have to include a slideshow with photos of Jonas doing nothing but existing. Julian isn’t sure Joshua would get it.

While Julian decides the fight between himself and the potato under his knife, Joshua snorts and takes another bite. He chews it thoughtfully, before speaking again.

“You still haven’t talked to him?”

Ha. Good one, Joshua.

“Uh, I didn’t mysteriously come up with an impeccable plan over the last day, no.”

“What do you need a plan for? He only puts his pants on one leg at a time, too. I mean, I guess so. You’re the expert on that.”

“I don’t… I don’t know.”

“Dude. We’re going to be here how long? A couple of days tops, and that’s if France doesn’t screw us. And what are you going to do then? When we’re all back at our clubs and you can’t just chat him up over breakfast?”

Julian hates it, but Joshua is right. Jonas will probably get called up for the national team again soon, Julian not so much. Maybe, sure, but he’d rather not bet on it.

And wherever else could Julian try to seductively balance on foam rollers, with Jonas working out two mats left from him?

He can’t stop himself from sneaking another look at Jonas across the room.

This time however, Jonas catches him and meets his gaze. Julian can feel his cheeks burning up, like he’s the shy girl in the last row making eyes at the jock. Except they’re all jocks here, sort of, whatever.

Jonas doesn’t look weirded out though, just returns a small smile before joining the conversation with Mesut and Sami again.

Julian can feel the stupid grin spread across his own face before he can stop himself.

“You know what?” he decides then, right there, pushing his plate away and getting up, “Yeah.”

Joshua frowns, surprised by the sudden action. “Wait, what do you mean, Yeah?”

Julian shrugs and smirks - to annoy Joshua, not actually because he’s all that sure about himself. He pointedly presses his mouth shut, before turning around and walking away.

Joshua audibly gasps. “Julian! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” he calls after him, making a couple of heads turn. “Whatever you’re planning, you need to tell me about it afterwards!”

Julian probably would totally tell Joshua right now. If he had an actual plan past ‘hope for the best’.

But hey, fortune favours the brave.

\--

Julian counts along the rising room numbers as he makes his way down the corridor. The closer he gets to 318, the slower he walks.

Joshua had kept annoying him after dinner, all the while wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, while Julian had spent the rest of the day pretty much just waiting for the later evening, so he could be sure to catch Jonas alone in his room.

If rejection was going to hit him, it could at least come without added public humiliation.

Standing in front of Jonas’ door, Julian builds up his courage and knocks on it. He’s startled by how loud it sounds in the otherwise quiet hall.

Four or five seconds pass before Jonas opens the door and Julian knows he must be quite a sight, standing there, wide-eyed, pale and barefoot.

“Hey,” Julian stutters.

“Hey,” Jonas replies. He’s wearing his glasses and has a book in his hand, index finger between the pages to remember the spot he left off.

“You doing anything?” Julian asks, kneading his hands. He tries to peer over Jonas’ shoulder, but sees nothing except the standardised room layout and the yellow shine of the nightlight.

Jonas answers the question with a look of surprise. “Uhm, yeah. Just reading though.”

Julian mentally facepalms. Jonas is holding the fucking book after all. Pointless question.

“Uhm,” Julian continues, shifting from one foot to the other, “I was just wondering whether you’d like to. I don’t know. Hang out maybe?”

Jonas’ initial reaction is hope-shattering. He narrows his eyes and Julian can see the wheels turning in his head, but when he seems to figure out that it’s not some sort of prank, his face lights up.

“Sure, yeah, of course,” he replies hurriedly, stepping aside to let Julian into the room. “I don’t think I’m particularly interesting to hang out with, though.”

Julian wants to press Jonas to his chest just for saying that, but he holds back maturely and sits down on the edge of the bed.

“I think you’re pretty cool.”

“Yeah, right,” Jonas laughs and puts his book away before sitting down next to Julian. He isn’t even _that_ close (throwbacks to the quarterfinal pass Julian’s mind), but if Julian shifted his weight in the right way, their legs could touch.

Jonas starts picking at the fluffs on the blanket.

“Has Löw talked to you? Do you think you’re gonna get to play?”

A work-related question. Okay, better than nothing.

“I don’t think so. But I didn’t really expect it for these matches, so it’s fine, I guess.” Julian shrugs. “I only hope he’s going to remember me next time.”

Jonas nods enthusiastically. “He should.”

“Yeah.”

An awkward silence falls over the room.

Julian can’t think of anything to say that doesn’t sound annoying or overly eager, and he’s probably totally getting on Jonas’ nerves anyway, so he presses his mouth shut.

Jonas looks up from the blanket, eyes glowing in the low light, but then he bows his head again without saying a word.

“God, this was a bad idea, wasn’t it?” Julian sighs and pushes himself off the bed. “You probably don’t even like me.”

At least he had tried, if somewhat clumsily. Now he could ban his thoughts about Jonas into strictly-fantasy territory until he got over it and could forget about him.

However, before Julian can even take a single step away, Jonas holds him back by his sleeve, looking up at him from the bed.

“Wait, what did you say?” Jonas asks, blinking through his glasses. But Julian can’t defend himself, because Jonas cuts him off right away with breathy voice. “Never mind, I heard it.”

Then he pushes himself up and pulls Julian down at the same time, and he puts a soft kiss on Julian’s lips.

It’s a matter of a second at most, but Julian’s heart still skips a beat twice, and he’s frozen when Jonas pulls back and sinks on the bed with a sheepish look on his face.

“Oh,” is all Julian can come up with in that moment, because his brain seriously fried. He came here with low hopes, only to have them ruined and then surpassed in the matter of a minute. It’s not easy to keep up, give him a break.

“I’m glad you came by?” Jonas offers, chewing on his lip.

“Me too,” Julian replies slowly. He extends his hand, and when Jonas takes it with a certain grip, it pulls Julian out of his shock.

He grabs Jonas by the shoulders and kisses him - less soft, so Jonas falls backwards onto the bed and Julian with him.

Julian can feel the warmth of Jonas’ chest through their shirts, can taste the toothpaste in Jonas’ mouth, can hear Jonas make tiny sounds into the kiss.  
It’s a feeling not unlike the one Julian had when the crowd roared after their final penalty shot. Except - yes. Better.

When Jonas then carefully pushes Julian away from him, Julian’s face must speak of his worry of rejection, because Jonas is quick to apologize.

“Shit, sorry. It’s just - my glasses,” Jonas says, laughing bashfully, and Julian joins him, relief pouring out of his heart. As long as that’s the only reason he interrupted the kiss, it’s fine. They’re fine.

“Uh, I just gotta,” Jonas continues and leans over to reach for the spectacle case on his nightstand. He fumbles to click it open and to neatly put his glasses into it. Julian watches with a hot fascination that he really shouldn’t be feeling, considering it’s such a mundane action.

“I only have this pair with me, so I have to make sure it doesn’t break. I mean I play without them, but still. Though my eyesight is getting a bit worse, but I’m really not into contact lenses, so I hope it won’t get that bad, you know?” Jonas rambles on, gesturing helplessly.

“Yeah,” Julian nods, biting his tongue so he can’t mention how much he likes the sight of Jonas wearing them. Better not drop the blackmail material that early.

He takes the case from Jonas’ hands and puts it away, then he says all casually (he’s proud of the steady voice he manages), “I still haven’t really congratulated you on the goal you scored.”

Julian doesn’t even really mean it that way, because it’s ten at night during an international tournament and they’re in a hotel room surrounded closely by team mates and he’d rather just talk it out right now.

But he’s still sad he doesn’t have a camera to take a photo of the face that Jonas makes when he hears him say it.

Just a little.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is quite a bit past its [best-before date](http://sciencevsromance.net/post/146875792056/yesterday-jonas-hector-both-scored-the-winning), but that means it’s only ecofriendly to not throw it away before at least taste testing it.  
> It was supposed to be short, quick and rough, and it ended up being only one out of those three, but I hope you still like it.
> 
> Title is from the song by Lot with the same name.  
> As always thanks to Mercy who is the Vero to my Leo.
> 
> (So many names with j. Dang.)
> 
> Twitter [here](https://twitter.com/kissthecrest), tumblr [here](http://lahmly.tumblr.com/), I’d love to hear from you!


End file.
